


A Claim Of Belonging

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Birthday Presents, Bittersweet Ending, Coffee, Commission fic, Healing, Home Alone, Hospitalization, Humiliation, Leaving Home, Manhandling, Medical Trauma, Misunderstandings, Modern technology, Multiple Selves, Old-Fashioned Torture Methods, Rescue, Secret Messages, Surprises, Tenderness, Texting, Torture, Violence, suggestion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 14:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16410650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Anti lures Jameson to an unusual meeting place, though not for the reasons the gentleman may expect. Commission Fic.





	A Claim Of Belonging

Although Jameson had been introduced to vast amounts of knowledge about the world every single day for the past year, he still couldn’t help but retain the same awe and wonder at all of these new contraptions that made modern life so easy. The coffee pot was no exception. Jameson still vividly remembered the day Schneep had showed him all of its unique parts and their functions.

“Is a very simple little process, Jamie, one I do every day! You let the good doctor show you,” he urged, his voice reflecting so much warmth and eagerness to teach as he gestured for Jameson to lean down beside him. “The first electrical drip brewer was created by one of my proud people, Gottlob Widmann, in 1954! They replaced those bitter old coffee percolators in the 70’s!”

To Jameson, those bitter old percolators had been a staple, but he couldn’t help but smile at the doctor’s enthusiasm—and frankly it was astonishing at how quickly the coffee spilled into the mug once he pressed the button. The warm brew he was sipping now tasted positively delightful, even if he would have preferred tea, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when he realized there was foam lingering in his mustache. It was too bad that he had no one to share the laugh with, though; all of the others were gone for the day. Jameson expected Schneep would be sneaking home for lunch, despite hospital policies. Maybe they could share a cup then.

Once the steaming mug was only half full, he set it aside, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on his knees as he considered what he could do to entertain himself. The television was dark and silent before him, but the last time he had tried to use it on his own, he had set all of the channels to French. He had already tended the garden this morning and he’d read his favorite book at least three times over by now.

Perhaps he should put more time into learning how to use his phone. Chase had tried to introduce him to so many new thingamajigs all at once ( **“A wristwatch? By golly, I’ve got a pocket watch that serves just fine!” “Why on earth would I need a contraption to track my number of steps? I should hope I can count ’em myself!” “I know precisely when I need to wake in the morning, Da, I don’t need any ol’ radio clock screaming at me; that’s not a device to be fond of!”** ) until at long last the overwhelmed gentleman had insisted that he pick just  _one_. Chase had opted for what he called a “smart phone”.

 _I don’t see why the intelligence of the mechanism matters;_ I’m _the intelligence making use of all its bells and whistles!_  That said, he’d become a bit more accustomed to all of the clicking and swiping, and it was nice to be able to keep in contact with the others through text. To that end, he sent a brief  **“Miss you!”** message to Chase. Less than a minute later he was a little taken aback by a ping and a vibration in response. Chase rarely ever responded that quickly!

As soon as he reopened it, he saw that his hunch was correct. It wasn’t Chase who had texted; it was a number he didn’t recognize. Since when were telephone numbers so long? It trailed off the screen: 010011010110000101110011011101000110010101110010…Brows furrowing, he took one more sip of his coffee before opening it.

**?: Jem! Are you free to come to the northeast district? Warehouse 31. There’s something all of us want you to be a part of!**

The northeast was a rather unseemly side of town. Why on earth would they want him there after warning him against it so many times? His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the longer he stared at the message the more uncertain he became. He couldn’t think of any reason why—A sudden prickle of pain down the nape of his neck made his ears pop and he startled, pressing a hand to the source with a wince.

_Chase wants to film a haunted video in one of the northeast warehouses this year. He’s been excited about making it for months. Of course you remember that._

**“Oh! Confound it all, how could I have forgotten Chase’s video? He’s only spoken of it for _months_  now!”** he scolded himself, shaking his head and typing hurriedly back.

**JJ: Indeed! I’ll order an Uber and be there soon!**

**?: :)**

* * *

The thirty-first warehouse was in a ghastly state, Jameson mused, tsking in disbelief as he peered through the Uber window up at the large structure. Rust and decay riddled its surface; who knew what it must look like inside? Even the driver seemed skeptical, but he was more than willing to accept Jameson’s money for it.

“Be careful out there,” he cautioned as goodbye. Jameson merely tipped his hat as he drove away. Chase and the crew would probably be setting up their equipment inside; his mind was wrapped up in what part the older Ego might ask him to play in it.

On impulse he brought himself to knock on the large doors, coughing and waving in annoyance at the cloud of rust that was blown off by the motion. Oddly, it didn’t look like they had been opened in some time! It took a bit of force from his shoulder to widen them enough that he could slip inside. Intimidated by the length of the shadows within, however, he slowed, resisting the urge to wring his hands in his nervousness.

 **“Da?”**  he called out gingerly.  **“If you attempt to spook me now, I’m going to be very cross!”**

“On̵ t͞h͘e ͞contra̧ry, b͝o͟y͝… I҉ d͢o̢n’t̶ n̛e̢ęd ̧t͢o̵  _try_ ,” a gleeful, chillingly familiar voice echoed somewhere before him.

The moment of paralyzed, terrified realization was a moment too long. Gasping, Jameson lunged back toward the doors— _safety, freedom, help_ —but the Glitch was there behind him, seizing him by the throat with a vice grip that tore right through his collar and flinging him deeper into the darkness. He landed hard, somersaulting to a stop in a cloud of dust that made him choke and wheeze as all the air was knocked out of his lungs.

“I’m so ̡gl͡a͠d ͠y̧o͟u c̡am̵e̛ when ̢I͢ ̡c͢a̶lled you, pup͞pet͟. I͡t͠ ̶wo͟u͝ld h̢ave been i͞nc̡o͟nven͘ie͢nt if I ͞ha̛d needed ͝t͟o͏ come for y͡ou mys̶el͝f…A m͝ast͡ęr ͠s͠h͟ould ̡n͡ev͢er be f͠or͘c͜ed̡ to fetch thȩi͞r pet.”

Mouth dry, heart galloping dizzily in his chest, Jameson struggled to scramble back on his elbows and then onto his trembling legs, keeping the Glitch in his field of vision.  **“I’m no one’s _pet!_ ” **he gasped.  **“Certainly not one of yours, you madcap! W-Why’ve you brought me here?!”**

Head twisting grotesquely, Anti beamed, spreading his arms out in a mockingly inviting gesture. “T̷o͟ ͘ _c͞e͝l̢eb̶r͘a̵te_.͟ Your͠ birt̢hda̧y͟ is͠ ͘approaching,͜ ̛li͡t̢t̷l̛e o͟n͜e…th͜e an͝niver҉sary of͡ the͝ ̵day̨ I͞ c̷a̧me ̨t͠o͝ ow̴n ͞you̵.”

Shaking his head violently, Jameson blinked in fearful disbelief. It was a mistake; as soon as he looked again, mouth open to deny it, Anti was out of sight, and without warning a pair of large, invasive hands clamped onto his shoulders from behind. He barely had a chance to register them before he was being hauled off his feet and thrown back first into one of the roof’s massive support pillars. Something in his abdomen fractured on impact, drawing a soundless scream of agony as he landed and curled into himself.

Anti cackled at the sight, his form spitting and buzzing like a cloud of enraged bees as he lunged on top of him, seizing twin handfuls of the younger Ego’s vest and shirt and ripping them away in a few effortless tugs. Yelping in alarm at the violation, JJ tried fruitlessly to struggle, but a resounding fist to his face sent stars through his vision and ended most of his struggle.

The next thing he knew, Anti was dragging him across the coarse, icy floor, the rust and seams in the floor panels scraping painfully at his bare back and waist. Spitting blood from his split lip, he thrashed sideways as much as he was able and then lifted aching arms to scratch at the hand fisted into his hair. The Glitch seemed unaffected.

**“Stop! _Agh!_  Antisepticeye, s- _stop!_ ”**

“No̵t̴ ̧u͠nt͠i͢l͜ ̶yo͠u’vę be̸en͡ gi͟ven ̴y͢ou͞r͜ ̡gift!” With one more wrench to his puppet’s mane that set his scalp on fire, Anti tossed him forward. Jameson braced himself for a third thunderous landing, but as he tumbled head over heels he was shocked to discover that there was a soft heap of unknown padding underneath him. Straining to sit up, he wrapped his arms around his throbbing stomach and wheezed, the harsh breath disturbing the strange pile of feathers. He didn’t have a chance to ask what they were for. Anti glitched once more, violently and abruptly, and then he was lifting a steaming industrial bucket over his head.

“Y̡our  _gif̴t_ , J͝a͡mes͠o̢n Jac҉kson̡—We’re ͢goin͟g͡ to̡ ta̷ke ̷p̡ar̶t̴ in a good o͜ld-fashiơn͢ed҉ ͝tr͝a͡di̢ti̧oņ. It’s o͡nę ̕I’m s̡ure yo҉u’ll bȩ f͟a͝mil̶iar ͜w̛it͞h͜,” he hissed, heaving the bucket and its contents down with a resounding splash. Jameson screamed as the hot tar made contact, scalding every inch of him as it poured down in waves. Thrashing and flailing, aura storming wildly with the agony no one could hear, he blindly tried to dive somewhere,  _away_ , but Anti’s voice and his fists and his heavy boots bombarded him.

“Yo҉u’r̢e͠  _w̡͜o̴r̵̡͟thl҉͜ess̛!_  Y̛͡o͠͞u’r̡̛̛e̴ ̧̛͝ _n̢̕ot̵͜hi̴̢n̵͠ģ̛!_  My̕͢͢ _͘p̢e͢t̡!_   _H̡ous̸̶͡e̢bŗ̷o̵k̵̶e̷n̨̧!_   _T͢his ͟is̨ ̢w̡h̷e͝r̴e ͠you belo͟ng͡!_ ”

The feathers caught in the tar, sharp and endless and smothering as they clung to his burning skin, choked him and caught in his streaming eyes. In the end the excruciating barrage was too much, he couldn’t  _breathe_ , he couldn’t  _think_ —Then there was darkness.

When he woke, his bruised and burning body was struck with the bitter chill of the fifty-degree night air. His hands were bound behind him, sticky back plastered to a pole of some kind—a streetlamp. Its light sputtered disorientingly over his head, so he ducked it, letting his eyes close and coughing to dislodge the ugly taste of blood and tar from his mouth. Within moments, the coughs became strangled sobs that tore at every wound.  **“Hh…help me…p-please, please, s-someone help me…”**

“Jamie?!  _Jamie!_ ” That voice and the footsteps approaching from across the asphalt forced his tear- and tar-streaked face up, causing Schneep to falter, his own face transforming in horror. “Oh—oh, no—” He didn’t waste any more time than that, kneeling hurriedly behind him and drawing out his scalpel to tear through his bonds. “Is okay, little one, is okay, the good doctor’s got you!”

* * *

A few days later, Jameson lay silent and tearful in his medical bed, picking at a loose thread on the blanket that served to hide the vast swathes of bandaging over his legs. Schneep was perched beside him, brushing practiced fingers through his tangled hair, intending to soothe. The morphine and diazepam hadn’t been as kind to him as either of them had hoped during the endless icing and stripping of the tar; neither of them would forget anytime soon how he’d rocked his raw, blistered forehead into his seared knees and cried at the bottom of the bathtub.

“Jameson…” Schneep spoke up softly, luring the gentleman out of his pained thoughts. When JJ’s eyes met his, he paused to swallow before knitting his brows and continuing. “This is going to be the first birthday I celebrate with you. You…you know where I was this time last year. I feel a lot back then like you do now, but I—I am not going to let you stay in this place.”

Jameson perked up at that, a lump already forming in his throat, and Schneep shifted closer.

“I will protect you this Halloween, and we will  _celebrate_  you,” he whispered with a trying smile, shaky yet earnest. “Marvin and I will bake you a cake—three tiers,  _four_ —and we decorate it with candy corn. Chase will get you your very favorite ice cream, pistachio, and Jackieboy will make all the balloon animals you want. We will sing for you, ‘He’s A Jolly Good Fellow’, and we will make you feel loved!”

Fresh moisture was already welling in Jameson’s eyes, though he wasn’t sure what it was for, the ache in his body or the longing in his heart. Schneep was quick to cup his cheeks, thumbing the tears away.

“Because you  _are_  loved, Jamie. You don’t belong to him. None of us do or  _ever will_. We belong with each other, and that’s where you are staying, okay?”

With a shuddery breath Jameson managed a nod, letting his battered face rest there in the older Ego’s kind hands.  **“…Okay.”**

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! If you enjoyed and you have something you'd like to see me write, ask me about commissions!


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